Frayed Strings
by beansprout1997
Summary: Molly cut one by one, all of the strings that tied her to London, and burned every bridge with a vengeance. Will she ever come back?


"Not all those who wander are lost." - J.R.R Tolkien.

What Mr. Tolkien forgets to mention (or maybe he can't bear to say it) is that lost of people are lost. Hundreds,thousands of lost souls, dancing across the world, without roots or branches. Unattatched. Floating. No one told Molly that one day she would burn a bridge, or cut a string, and it would be the last one. That she would float.

Four years after Sherlock returns from being dead (she never noticed how she measured her life not in years, but in events involving Sherlock more often than not) Molly spends New years alone, save the company of a tabby cat that doesn't particularly like it's owner. So with the infinite support that only a bottle of aged whiskey can provide; Molly makes a decision. The next morning she peeks through a haze of headache and dry mouth at her emails and discovers a fresh one from Mike- her boss- expressing his sadness that she had chosen to hand in her resignation, and his best wishes for the future. She knows she should regret the actions her drunk self took, and that she (Being mostly sober) should immediately beg for her job back. But she just can't bring herslef to do that. So she closes her emails and makes yet another decision (she's not sure if she's still drunk when she does it, but she doesn't give a fuck anymore). Soon a one way ticket to Chicago is booked for tonight and Molly is packing absent mindedly- as if she were doing dishes or hoovering. Like this was every day.

Then she's gone. Lost somewhere, having been swallowed by a huge city and a sea of people. She revels in it. She doesn't sleep for three days, and she spends her time walking and breathing and being. She didn't care that no one cared that she left. She didn't need those people. They needed each other, no one needed her. She was free.

At least that was what she was muttering to herself at three AM on the roof of the crappy hotel she had booked herself into. She had the money her father left her when he had died (a sizable fortune really). She could do what ever she wanted. She feels like a little girl on that rooftop, staring at the stars. She feels very small.

She stays in Chicago in a rented apartment for three months. Then she's off again. This time Ireland. It's odd to know she's so close to what used to be her home, but she feels no desire to go back there. Her home is wherever she goes now. Ireland keeps her entertained for a while. She's a little more social here, getting caught up in a welcoming town and nice people. She drinks and laughs and goes for walks in rolling fields kissed by the sun and drowned in the rain. But soon she grows bored, and another plane ticket arrives with her name on it. In the same batch of mail, a letter arrives- hand written. The envelope is a little crinkled, and the ink a little smudged. She opens it carefully. It's from one John Watson. She'd forgotten all the strings at home, cut and hanging loosely around the edges of London. She's forgotten John Watson.

Dear Molly,

How are you doing? It took me a while to track you down after Chicago, but I think this is your new

address. I couldn't get a hold of a phone number either. I was just writing to wish you a happy birthday. and I

wanted to ask you- why did you leave? Why didn't you say goodbye? You still have friends here Molly; we miss you.

I wish you would come home, but if you can't then at least let us know you're okay. We're worried about you. Christ

even Sherlock! Anyway, just remember you'll always have a home here Molly. Happy Birthday again.

Sincerely, .

Short and oh so sweet. She stares at it a moment and wonderes where the time went. It was already September, and Molly was 32. She crumples the letter and leaves, Plane ticket to India in her steady hand. She doesn't need those strings, and they dont need her. She doesnt ever have to go back, not if she doesnt want to. She clings to that thought as she watches Delhi International airport from her window seat. After 6 months in a place so like her home- Molly needed change. and you couldn't get much more different to London than the sprawling slums and beauty of India.

She stays there and works as an English speaking volunteer in a medical center. She doesn't have to, but she needs something to distract her from her thoughts. They were spiraling out of her control, wandering the world- to Chicago, to Dublin, to London...

She shakes her head, and keeps herself busy, cleaning wounds and doing paperwork until the late afternoon, when she becomes aware of a presence standing in front of the desk she's using. She glances up and back down, brain not quite processing what she'd seen. Slowly her sizable lump of grey matter caught up, and she looked back- her gaze landing upon the fiery blue orbs of Sherlock Holmes, Bellstaff coat and all. Her hands tremble, but her gaze is steady, no sign of her thoughts on her face. Of course her thoughts are richocheting off the walls of her skull, bouncing around violently and making her feel more alive than she had since she left stole a breath of stale, humid air, and licked her lips.

"Sherlock" she uttered clearly, smiling. She stood and waited for him to speak. He was busy assessing every detail of her trip from the clothes she wore to the tan on her face, and the lines on her hands. Finaly he looked back to her.

"Why aren't you at St. Barts?" he says, watching her flinch at the name of the building that had once been her place of employment. She sighs, deep and long. She doesn't want the strings to tie together again, for them to form a rope that could drag her back to london. Talking about it could make it happen.

"I don't work there anymore Sherlock. I work here. I'm assuming you're here on a case?" She tries desperately to turn the conversation away, to focus on anything but the face that she could never forget.

He slams a fist down on the table. "No I am not here on a case, I came here looking for you Molly Hooper. For whatever reason, your absence from my life seems to driving me to distraction, and I haven't had a case above a 6 for four months. John seems to think I might be in love with you or something as equally ridiculous. I have eliminated all the impossible reasons that I had to come and find you. I deduce that however improbable, this ridiculous notion of "love" must be the truth. And so I come to the conclusion that I am in fact in love with you Molly Hooper, and was too frightfully stupid to see it." Sherlock stood before her, panting from the effort he put into his speech, and to Molly's ears he sounded so sincere.

To bad that to Molly's brain, he sounded as if he wanted something. It was in fact, highly probable that he pathologists left at St. Barts were not as gullable as she had been, and were not allowing Sherlock access to body parts and the lab. It was highly probable that the consulting detective would go to this extreme to gain those things back, after all he got engaged for less. Molly sighed and snuffed out the spark that moments ago had made her feel alive, choosing to listen whole heartedly to reason.

"Don't lie to me Sherlock. I am not a gullible little girl anymore. If you want access to the lab, or to body parts, I'm afraid you'll have to take that up with the staff at St. Bart's. I can't help you anymore. That's not my life or my place now. Send my regards to John, Mary and the baby. Bye Sherlock." With that she stood, gathered her things and turned to go. She made it all of 4 foot before hands were on her shoulders, spinning her around and stopping her abruptly. Sea green clashed with brown, his fingers digging into her freckled arms.

"Sherlock I-"

"You listen to me. I looked for you. I went to Chicago the day John said he found your new address, then I got there a day late. It took me a month to track you to ireland and another two weeks to find the obscure little town you holed yourself up in. Then- just as I was about to get a hold of you- you upped and flew off again! You have become the most unpredictable creature Molly, I never would have guessed you would run to India. An now here we are. I have found you, and I will not let you go again. I can't take the image of you in my mind, every second of every day- all alone. You look so lost. And I cant-" His speech falters a moment, her face exactly as he had pictured. "I can't stand being without you anymore. Stop this wandering, you know deep in your heart of hearts where you belong- at home, in London. With me". His eyes were softer now, begging her to see that this was the most sentiment he had released in one go since he was a toddler.

He's struck her quite dumb and she doesn't know what to isn't so sure that he just wants bodies.

Her mind falters just a touch, and her heart takes the opportunity to push its way through the door, screaming at her to believe him, to take the risk and tie her old strings back up, to rebuild the bridges she burned so long ago. It occurs to her that she doesn't like being lost. She hates floating. She hopes that not all her strings to London are cut, that maybe by some miracle they stretched all the way to India. She hopes she can go home, and stay there.

Suddenly all that matters is the little taste of home standing before her, and she was in his arms, hugging him with a fury he'd never seen from the tiny woman before, and things were as they should always have been.

THE END. 

**Read and review if you enjoyed, just something that was playing on my mind a bit xxx**


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